


Flowers Like Ashes

by NoirSongbird



Series: Love Like Flowers [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Pining Hanzo, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 08:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9876062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoirSongbird/pseuds/NoirSongbird
Summary: The Hanahaki Disease is an illness born from one-sided love, where the patient coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. The infection can be removed through surgery, but the feelings disappear along with the petals.Hanzo Shimada is desperately in love with Jesse McCree -- the flower petals he coughs up whenever McCree so much as looks his way are plenty of evidence ofthat.It is unfortunate, then, that McCree utterly despises him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Des fleurs comme cendres](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10904082) by [tacospankakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacospankakes/pseuds/tacospankakes)



> Sssoooooo I discovered hanahaki disease as A Thing just a few days ago and I couldn't believe I'd never hard of it before because it is so painfully _my aesthetic._ As a result, this happened.
> 
> As always much love and thanks to the Overwatch Writer's Guild discord server, y'all are the BEST enablers <3 <3

The first time Hanzo coughed up flowers, it was for the worst and most _inconsequential_ of reasons.

He knew that he was in love with Jesse McCree. It was, to his view, impossible to _not_ be in love with him; McCree was witty and brilliant, and for all his harsh exterior Hanzo had caught glimpses of a soft, genuine heart.

Always directed at other people, because Jesse McCree rightfully despised Hanzo, but it was there.

Hanzo _knew_ McCree despised him; McCree made absolutely no secret of it. He’d cornered Hanzo within days of the archer joining Overwatch to inform him that if McCree had his way, Hanzo would have a bullet between his eyes, but Genji had _insisted_ he be given a chance and that was the _only_ reason Hanzo was still alive.

And yet, there Hanzo was, painfully in love with him. He was a _fool._

McCree was happy to hand out compliments to the rest of the team, but he was tight-lipped when it came to ones for Hanzo, usually. At best Hanzo could occasionally wring out a gruff “thanks,” and usually that was _enough,_ because really, Hanzo couldn’t expect much more than that.

This time, though, McCree paused when they were halfway out of the hangar at Gibraltar and gave Hanzo a brief once-over that pinned the archer in place. He was prepared for a harsh comment as was usual, but instead McCree huffed.

“Pretty handy with that bow,” he said, and it sounded almost grudging, but it was still a _compliment,_ and it was an actual physical effort for Hanzo to keep from smiling like an idiot.

“Thank you,” he said, still a little stunned, and then he felt a tickling in his throat, and he gave McCree a brief nod and made to leave the hangar, finding somewhere private to give into the urge to cough. Better to do it privately, so no one would worry; not that he particularly suspected they would, since he was all but certain the only person who cared about his well-being outside of a professional capacity was Genji, and he had never let sickness stop him from completing his duties before so it would not affect his mission performance, but better to simply avoid even the possibility. He covered his mouth, too, to deaden the sound, as the coughing fit wracked its way through him.

When he pulled his hand away from his mouth, he stared at it for a long time.

Laying in his palm were _flower petals,_ in a rich red, long and thin and like nothing Hanzo had ever seen.

He stared at them for a long, horrified moment, and then shook them off his hand and walked away. He would….deal with this _later._

 

* * *

 

Chuparosa, they were called, Hanzo learned, when he asked Athena to compare a sample he offered her against a database of wildflowers. A hardy desert flower, native to the Southwestern United States and Mexico. The...sort of flower he would associate with McCree, he supposed, if only for its origins and its bright color, as red as his serape.

Hanzo sighed.

He knew what hanahaki was; he’d thought it mostly an urban legend, because _really,_ coughing up _flower petals_ seemed an odd symptom for those suffering from unrequited love, but here he was, coughing up petals because he was such a hopeless fool. It would get worse, he knew. It would hurt.

(As if it didn’t already; there was a constant ache in his chest that got worse every time McCree dismissed him or ignored him or threw one of his casual-sounding but vicious barbs. Now there would just be a physical cause.)

He would have to keep it close to his chest, because there was no need to make anyone else worry over him, especially not Genji.

 

* * *

 

Or, well, he _tried_ to keep it hidden, but the disease clearly had other plans.

Genji was the first to discover it, because Genji actually followed him out of the mess hall when he had to retreat, between a particularly stinging comment from McCree (“yeah, well, loyalty’s damn important on a team like this, an’ I think it might be a foreign concept to some of us,” with a very long, directed look) and the sudden urge to cough, and he didn't even notice Genji was there until he was disgustedly shaking flower petals off his palm.

“Oh, _Hanzo,_ ” Genji said, and Hanzo cringed. The terribly pitying tone of his voice was like a knife, a reminder that Hanzo was so _weak_ and _useless_ that his brother, whom he had nearly _murdered,_ was forced to comfort _him._

“Do not,” Hanzo said quietly. “Do not pity me.”

“I’m not,” Genji said, bending down to pick up one of the petals and turn it over between his fingers. “So, hanahaki. Is that why you keep ducking away?” Hanzo felt a bubble of shame, but he nodded. “How long?”

“A few weeks,” Hanzo admitted. “It is…nothing. Not serious.”

“Not _yet,”_ Genji said. “It will be, eventually.”

“Eventually,” Hanzo agreed. “But not now. It may…stop, before it gets that bad.”

“Mm-hmm,” Genji said skeptically. Hanzo just shook his head and waved Genji off.

It did not matter. He could suffer.

 

* * *

 

Doctor Ziegler was the first person to suggest _treating_ the issue. She caught onto it while treating him for a different injury, to his humiliation, but he supposed he should have expected it, eventually.

“Hanahaki is a very serious disease,” the doctor said, frowning, “and I wish that you had informed me sooner, we will need to monitor its progress carefully. Have you spoken to the subject of your feelings?”

“No,” Hanzo said, and it was _humiliating,_ almost, to have something so private and intimate laid out undeniably for everyone to see. For a doctor to fret over, because it was affecting his health. “It...would not make a difference, I am certain.” Doctor Ziegler frowned, like she couldn’t quite believe him, which was absurd because she was well aware of how little trust the rest of Overwatch treated him with. _She_ treated him with distrust and resentment, barely masked by her sharp professionalism.

“I will trust your assessment,” she said. “If that is the case, and you have no particular expectation of having the feelings returned, perhaps we should consider surgical removal?”

“No,” Hanzo said, softly. “I do not...wish to pursue that route.”

“Consider it,” Dr. Ziegler said. “There is no sense in dying for this.”

 

* * *

 

With some observation, Genji found, it wasn’t actually difficult to determine who it was that had his brother pining so badly he was coughing up flowers. It was all in Hanzo’s behavior - he was polite but avoidant with most of the people at the Watchpoint, and it wasn’t unjustified - Genji was doing his best, but _so many_ of his old friends treated Hanzo with resentment, and their attitudes got picked up by the new team members, and no matter what Genji did, it was a vicious cycle not helped by Hanzo throwing up an emotional wall.

As best Genji could tell, there was one person Hanzo actually went _out of his way_ to be around - never in conversation with, just... _near._ Also, there was no missing the way Hanzo _looked_ at Jesse McCree, or that him disappearing to hack up more petals seemed uncomfortably in line with McCree tossing one of his casual barbs Hanzo’s way, or even with McCree just _acknowledging_ Hanzo’s presence.

It hurt, to watch Hanzo suffer like this. To watch him tear himself apart. And it was worse that this was a sign of how _good_ Overwatch could have been for him - because _Hanzo Shimada,_ ever-cold, ever-stoic, ever-removed, was _in love_ with a scruffy cowboy he wouldn’t even have given a second glance back when he was the Heir to the Shimada Empire and that was all that mattered to him.

Except it had all gone _so wrong_ so quickly, because of course Jesse had it in his head that he had to...to _protect_ Genji from Hanzo or whatever was going on with him that caused him to treat Hanzo with so much more pointed vitriol than everyone else on the team.

Genji had seen hanahaki before -- in girls he’d dated, girls he had never intended to fall in love with and had never bothered pretending he wanted to. It had always been a clear sign to him that it was time to get the hell out of that relationship, because that was so far beyond what a young, casually foolish Genji Shimada had been interested in handling.

(He always sort of hoped that cutting it off so quickly would end the infection. No one should have to live like that. Watching Hanzo struggle through it tore him up.)

He didn’t want to intervene - not because he didn’t care, but because he knew Hanzo wouldn’t appreciate it. Hanzo would see it as unnecessary interference, but Hanzo was apparently content to suffer in silence until his silence killed him, so Genji wasn’t entirely worried about going against what he expected his brother might want.

Getting a chance to talk to Jesse wasn’t exactly hard - he was always eager to try his shooting against Genji’s shuriken, and so getting him onto the practice range for a casual competition just took an offer.

“You know,” Genji said idly, over the comm set they were both using as they ran the simulation, “you could stand to be a bit nicer to my brother.” He heard McCree scoff on the other end and rolled his eyes behind his mask. “I’m serious,” he said. “This isn’t what I wanted when I invited him to join Overwatch.” He nailed three targets, then bounced to the next rooftop and shot off another set of shurikens. “He’s spent ten years trying to atone for what he’s done, it would not actually kill you to let up a little.”

“ _Trying to atone,”_ McCree said, almost mockingly, and Genji huffed. “He was an _assassin,_ that ain’t no atonement I ever heard of. Sounds more like he just took all his skills on the road for more money.”

“ _Jesse,”_ Genji said sharply.

“Look, I’m just sayin’, he ain’t exactly shown himself to be trustworthy,” McCree said, and there was a loud report of shots from his gun, then the jingling of him doing that ridiculous but, Genji had to admit, technically impressive roll to reload.

“And has he shown himself at all not to be?” Genji asked, ducking a training bot’s shot and rapidly embedding three shurikens in its chassis. “Because as best as I can tell he has done nothing but be a valuable asset to our team.”

“I know you wanna trust him,” McCree said, “he’s your brother, last part’ayor family - I _get it._ If somebody from Deadlock showed up tellin’ me they needed help an’ wanted to do better, I’d…probably give ‘em the benefit of the doubt, same as you are him. But Genji, he _killed you._ Didn’t just kill you, damn near _obliterated_ you. I remember what you looked like when Gabe an’ I first scraped you off the street. Somebody who can do something like that don’t change on a dime. He’s a snake, Genji, an’ when he bites this time it won’t just be you sufferin’.”

“The circumstances were different back then, Jesse,” Genji said. “He didn’t have a choice.”

“The hell he didn’t,” Jesse shot back.

“ _He didn’t._ ” Genji repeated, firm. “If your boss in Deadlock - if _Reyes_ \- said shoot, you shot, no?”

“Now that ain’t fair,” Jesse protested.

“Yes, it is,” Genji replied, all reasonable. “It was the same thing. The elders said _shoot,_ you said _who._ If they had commanded _me_ to kill _Hanzo…_ ” He had thought about it, over and over, considered, wondered. “For all my rebellion, I might well have done it.” He let out a brief sigh. “I am not asking you to marry him, Jesse. He is my brother, and I care for him, and he is suffering - badly. You have seen the flowers, we all have, he is much less good at hiding than he thinks he is. So just...try, please. Talk to him. I don’t know, take him to lunch. He could use a friend. I know I needed one, back then.”

“I…” McCree paused, and then he exhaled. “ _Fine._ I’ll try.”

 

* * *

 

It was strange, but pleasant, for Hanzo to notice McCree slowly becoming...not _kinder,_ but at least _less cruel._ The criticisms of Hanzo’s technique and the insults - implicit and explicit - regarding Hanzo’s loyalties and his past did not _stop,_ but they _slowed,_ and that was….it was something. It meant fewer coughing fits, fewer of the terrible red petals, less physical evidence of his stubborn feelings. Less _pain._

When McCree invited him to go into Gibraltar proper for lunch, part of Hanzo was convinced it was a trap. That all of this….softening was some sort of...of terrible prelude to public mockery, that if he let himself trust, he would end up regretting it.

He said yes anyway, because he was an _idiot._

For a little while, it was nice. The restaurant was small and quiet, and it felt good to get off the base for something other than a mission. It felt better to sit and talk with McCree for an hour, an hour in which there was not a single insult dropped and during which McCree actually _smiled._

Hanzo thought his heart was going to take flight when he saw it, turned at _him,_ without an ounce of mocking.

It was strange, to actually feel like...like someone wanted to be around him. Like McCree was _enjoying_ being in his presence, which was perhaps the largest miracle he could have asked for.

It had been good. Nice. Hanzo hated the bubble of hope that had started to grow in his chest, the entire time, that maybe this might mean...progress, to something less hostile. McCree would never love him back, he knew that, he had known that all along, but...but maybe. Just maybe. There was a chance.

It _felt_ like a terribly cheesy romantic moment, standing at the door into the Watchpoint, like the end of...of a date, in some terrible romantic movie, and Hanzo couldn’t help but be a little overwhelmed by how McCree looked, reaching up to adjust his hat - because even when he _was_ dressed down, the hat was still there, and it was one of innumerable charming quirks that had caused Hanzo’s affliction in the first place.

“I...had a pretty nice time today,” McCree admitted, and Hanzo felt something warm in his chest, a contrast to the constant ache of hanahaki.

“I did as well,” Hanzo said, with as much sincerity as he could infuse.

Hanzo was not a spontaneous man, ever. He was careful and methodical and he thought things through, and that served him well.

For once in his life, though, he felt like actually attempting spontaneity, and...and maybe that would be what tipped things over. Maybe something would go _right_ for him.

He stepped over and around, so he was in front of McCree, and pulled the cowboy down for a kiss.

Jesse tasted of tea, and of an insistent and lingering flavor of cigars and whiskey, and Hanzo prayed, for a moment, that this would be it, that there would be no more coughing and no more petals and it would be _over._

He pulled back and Jesse stared at him with wide eyes, and Hanzo dared to hope --

Except suddenly the urge to cough was like an agonizing sunburst in his chest, so painful it sent him to his knees, doubling over as he hacked up petals, red made redder by the new, alarming addition of blood.

It _hurt,_ but it didn’t hurt half as much as the sudden, hellishly agonizing realization of how utterly stupid what he had just done was. He had _tried,_ had put himself out there, and….and it had gone _so very wrong,_ so much wronger than he could have anticipated. He had done that and McCree still felt _nothing,_ and he was a _fool,_ so much moreso for having let himself hope.

He stumbled to his feet, forcing himself not to look at McCree’s face, where surely there would only be revulsion.

“I apologize, that was inappropriate,” he said, and he spun around, bolting through the door.

He couldn’t believe it. After everything he had done, after everything he had survived, what would finally kill him was that he would choke on flower petals, literally suffocated under the weight of his one-sided feelings. His foolish, useless, pointless one-sided feelings.

It was no less than he deserved.

 

* * *

 

Genji found Hanzo a few hours later, hiding in his room, curled into a tight ball on his bed and sobbing faintly. There were petals _everywhere,_ and….Genji reached down and picked one up, and felt a crashing wave of horror. It was bloody, a darker red than it was supposed to be, and he threw it onto the ground and sat on the bed, reaching out to rest a hand on Hanzo’s back.

“What happened?” He asked, softly. He felt Hanzo flinch.

“Nothing. It does not matter. I wanted what I could not have. What I should not have.” Hanzo said, and Genji understood.

He was going to _kill_ Jesse.

“I know you don’t want to,” Genji said, “but please, brother, think about getting this treated. I….do not want to lose you.”

“No,” Hanzo said quietly. Genji felt, more than he heard, as another sob wracked through his brother’s body. “I cannot. I….please. Do not ask this of me.”

“Alright,” Genji said, and then he carefully pulled Hanzo into a hug. Hanzo turned around and buried his face in Genji’s chest, sobbing like his heart was breaking.

All evidence suggested that was exactly what was happening.

 

* * *

 

Genji only left Hanzo’s room when his brother had sobbed himself into exhaustion, and it was not exactly difficult to find who he was looking for. McCree was sitting at one of the mess tables, staring into a cup of coffee. A bottle of whiskey sat next to it - a mixture Genji had teased McCree for, once upon a time, but he was feeling much less inclined towards teasing then.

“ _What happened.”_ He demanded, smacking his hands down on the table. McCree jumped, which meant he hadn’t been paying attention, which was unusual.

“It...I…” He brought his hands up and dropped his face into them, running his hands through his hair. “I took your brother out for lunch, like you suggested? An’ it was pretty nice, he’s...I’ll give ya that, I mighta misjudged him, but. He kissed me, when we got back, an’ then he just. Dropped, an’ started hackin’ up flower petals.” McCree explained. Genji felt his heart drop.

Oh, _no._ No _wonder_ Hanzo was so miserable.

“I don’t know what to do,” McCree admitted and Genji felt a mounting sense of horror.

“ _What?”_ He asked. “What do you _mean?_ Did you not consider this possibility when you asked him to go to lunch with you?”

“Look, I...I mean, I had no idea it was _me_ he was in love with _,_ how the fuck was I supposed to figure that out?” McCree demanded. Genji wanted to _scream._

“Goodness, you’re right, there were absolutely _no clues,”_ he said, bitterly. “You certainly could not have inferred it from the way he reacts to you - or from the way he looks at you when he thinks you are not watching, or that despite you treating him _absolutely horribly_ for _no reason at all -_ and do not pretend this is about me, it is _not -_ he still does everything he can to have even a moment in your company. But no, it would have been entirely impossible for you to realize he cared for you.”

McCree actually looked abashed, which, _good._

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, “ain’t my fault I don’t love him back, can’t force that. An’ _he_ kissed _me,_ not t’other way around, ain’t like I led him on on purpose.”

“No, you didn’t, and no, you can’t force yourself to love him,” Genji agreed, “I am not _asking_ you to do that. I am _asking you_ to treat him decently, especially now that you _know,_ because everything else you have done has made it _worse.”_ He took a deep breath, hands clenching into fists. “I am asking you not to kill my brother faster.”

 

* * *

Hanzo made extra efforts to be secretive about his illness after that, and extra efforts to avoid being around McCree. There was no need for him to impose himself on anyone else, no need for him to make a larger burden of himself than he already was.

Still, it got worse, until just a _glimpse_ of McCree was enough to make his heart ache and send him into another terrible coughing fit. It was stupid, and foolish, and he was in deeper than he had ever imagined.

He wondered if it was worse, if he was more susceptible, because he had never really known love before. The clan did not love, and he had betrayed the only other person who had ever cared about him. No wonder when he fell, he fell too hard and too fast for someone who despised him, and he suffered for it.

It was only right.

He tried to clean up the petals and the bits of blood that, more often than not, came up with them, but there was only so much he could do, and he knew people still noticed, and he felt terrible for it. The pitying looks, the constant offers of assistance, all of it made him feel even more terribly useless than he already did.

Any time he had to see Doctor Ziegler, she emphasized again that she felt he should get treated for it, and every time he told her _no._

This was what he deserved, after all.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo did his absolute best to not drag the team down, when he was allowed in the field. Doctor Ziegler was cautious about it, and he hated that because it made him feel even _more_ useless, but there was no arguing with her insistent medical advice. _Everyone,_ in fact, seemed to conspire to give him a lighter load.

It was ridiculous and terribly unnecessary; he was fully capable of doing his job.

Or so he believed.

He had noticed that there seemed to be a secondary conspiracy to avoid scheduling him and McCree together, which....struck him as the best possible option, all things considered. And yet they ended up together on a mission in the city of Oasis, running protection for a conference at the university there. There were reports of Talon wanting to disrupt the conference, and those reports rapidly proved to be true. Hanzo found himself tangled up in fighting to keep Talon off his position, and it was a pitched fight.

“God fuckin’ _damn it,_ Shimada, where the fuck _are_ you?” McCree’s voice was sharp over the comm, and Hanzo winced. Useless, useless, useless, whatever progress they had made he had clearly undone. “We need fuckin’ coverin’ fire, _get over here!”_

“I am _trying,”_ Hanzo said, wrapping his bow around a Talon agent’s neck and using it to leverage throwing them off his perch. He scrambled to get up higher, to get a better view, and one he was able, he began raining down arrows, carefully choosing scatter targets to end Talon agents running.

“Took you long enough,” McCree growled.

“Lay off him!” Hana said over the radio, and Hanzo winced again. So pathetic he needed other people to defend him.

“It is fine,” Hanzo said, quietly. “I should have been up higher sooner.”

He wished he didn’t understand what had made McCree revert back to harsh words, but it was obvious. He was actively repulsed by Hanzo’s feelings for him, by a _waste of space_ like Hanzo Shimada being so in love with him that it had him back to throwing barbs. He was probably angry they’d even been put on the same mission, probably hated knowing that Hanzo was even still _with_ Overwatch.

(That McCree could be equally harsh with _everyone_ in the field barely registered.)

Hanzo doubled over, racked with a coughing fit worse and longer than any he’d experienced before. It kept _going_ and _going,_ and he couldn’t _breathe,_ and…

“Shimada?” He heard Jesse’s voice in his ear, but it felt fuzzy and distant. “Shimada? _Shit,_ somebody get up there --”

Everything went very dark very quickly.

 

* * *

 

“Shit,” Jesse said under his breath, watching out of the corner of his eye as Genji stormed over to him, a towering figure of fury. Of _course_ he was pissed; after what happened in Iraq, anyone would be.

Jesse was keenly aware that it was directly his fault, too; he had been berating Hanzo, unfairly, and look where it had gotten them - _completely_ down one sniper and only getting out of there with both all of them and all of the people at the conference in one piece because Hana was a magic combination of brilliant, creative, and reckless and she’d blown her mech at exactly the right time to send Talon running and give them cover to get out.

Jesse had ended up pulling himself up to Hanzo’s sniper perch, and the image of the archer unconscious and surrounded by blood and bright red chuparosa petals was going to be engraved in his mind forever.

It was fucking _ridiculous,_ was what it was. Shimada was going to get them all killed with this -- whatever his game was, whatever he thought he was accomplishing by slowly killing himself over unrequited feelings like some hero in a shitty opera.

“You,” Genji snapped as soon as he was close enough, shoving a finger in McCree’s face, “are going to _insist_ he get the hanahaki treated. He will not listen to me or Angela; perhaps he will listen to you.”

“Yeah,” Jesse said, not even bothering to protest. “I’ll see if I can talk some damn sense into ‘im. After today, he’s gotta know this ain’t gonna work.”

At least, Jesse hoped so.

He waited a while, to give Hanzo time to recover and get back on his feet - no sense in jumping him when he was straight out of the medbay, not when he’d been _unconscious_ when they brought him back.

He found him on one of the Watchpoint’s many high open-air catwalks, looking utterly miserable.

“I am sorry. I failed.” Hanzo said, as an opener, without even looking over - but then, Jesse supposed he wasn’t exactly subtle on the approach. “Is the rest of the team alright?”

“Yeah, everybody made it out,” Jesse said, and Hanzo visibly relaxed.

“Good.” He said.

“Look,” Jesse began, “if this has said anythin’, it’s that this hanahaki shit really is gonna kill you someday -- why not just...get it done with? Not t’put too fine a point on it, but I don’t feel the same way, an’ I don’t see that changin’, so whatever your game is with it, it can’t be worth this.”

He watched tension slowly return to every line of Hanzo’s body, and actually took a half-step back, because there was something a little frightening about watching that happen.

“ _Excuse me?”_ Hanzo asked, voice cold and brittle. “Get it _done with?”_

Somehow, it was the most emotion Jesse had ever seen out of Hanzo Shimada, discounting that one day in Gibraltar. Before and since, he had been an impenetrable block of coldly professional ice, and now here he was, furious at the _suggestion_ of saving his life.

He stood up in one fluid motion, and Jesse couldn’t help but think of a serpent coiled to strike as he strode over.

“ _How dare you,”_ he snapped. “How _dare_ you demand I give up the one thing that has made me feel _human,_ the only thing that has made me feel _alive,_ in my _entire life?”_

Jesse blinked, slowly, taking another half-step back.

“I just --” he began.

“Just _what?_ ” Hanzo snapped. “Just thought this was some sort of _game_ to me? Did you imagine that I was suffering all of this because I imagined it might make you love me in return?”

“I --” That was, were Jesse being honest, sort of exactly what he had been thinking, because it seemed the obvious explanation. Why _else_ would he suffer through all this?

To feel anything at all, apparently.

“I know that it will not,” Hanzo said, and the anger seemed to drain out of him, “but that is not the point. My feelings, despite being for you, are not _yours,_ and you have absolutely no right to decide what I do about them.” He took a breath, and suddenly he didn’t look angry, just...exhausted, and terribly, _terribly_ raw. “I apologize for burdening you with my feelings. I will endeavor to be less of an inconvenience in the future.”

He sounded alarmingly sincere about that. About not wanting to be a _burden,_ an _inconvenience._

Shit. Nothing Genji had ever said about his brother had really prepared Jesse for the full depths of how... _broken_ his brother was.

He slid past Jesse and disappeared into the Watchpoint, leaving Jesse staring after him in stunned silence.

 

* * *

 

Jesse _wanted_ to find Hanzo after that, to talk to him, to try to…he wasn’t sure, but he hated leaving things like that. It wasn’t _right,_ to have Hanzo bare himself like that and for Jesse not to at least...well. At _least_ apologize for what he’d said.

Except Hanzo was nowhere to be found.

Hanzo, he learned, wasn’t even _at the goddamn Watchpoint._ He’d wriggled himself onto a mission roster practically as soon as he’d gotten back, even though that wasn’t supposed to be possible, so he was in _Greece._

Angela was absolutely furious when she found out, but it didn’t actually stop Hanzo from leaving on another mission as soon as he was back from _that_ one.

Very quickly, Jesse realized that he was signing onto literally every mission roster McCree _wasn’t_ on. It seemed ridiculous, and yet...and yet somehow it was perfectly in keeping with everything he’d seen of Hanzo so far.

_“I will endeavor to be less of an inconvenience in the future.”_

An _inconvenience._

Hell.

It hit a little too close to home, really, just like so much about Hanzo did when he let himself actually think about it. Back when Reyes had first dragged him kicking and bitching into Blackwatch, he’d been half angry and half _terrified_ that if he fucked up too badly they’d throw him out and he’d be in jail for the rest of his life and that would be _it,_ and he’d done everything to stay out of everyone’s way.

The longer Hanzo was gone, the more time Jesse had to _think about_ Hanzo, which was completely ridiculous, but...he caught himself wondering how long it had been going on for. How long Hanzo had been pining after him. He knew when he’d started seeing chuparosa petals, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been going on for much longer than that.

And ever since Hanzo had come to Overwatch, all Jesse had done was verbally beat on him.

_Fuck._

 

* * *

 

Jesse felt guilty doing it, really he did, but he was, frankly, a little bit desperate to just... _see_ Hanzo and make sure he was still alive, that he hadn’t keeled over somewhere in all the running around he’d done. (Though, in some fairness, if that _had_ happened, Jesse was fairly certain Genji would have found and filleted him.)

So he practically begged Fareeha to trade slots with him on a mission to London, and she agreed eventually, so he ended up on the plane, and Hanzo slipped on after - and he stared at Jesse with obvious surprise, and for a moment Jesse was absolutely certain he was going to bolt.

He looked _terrible,_ pale and thin, with dark circles under his eyes. He had clearly lost an alarming amount of weight, and Jesse wondered briefly when he’d last slept.

It was...bad.

“Howdy,” Jesse said, trying to be as light a possible.

“....Hello,” Hanzo said, and then he found a seat as far from Jesse as possible and seemed to try to ensure he was taking up as little space as possible.

Guiltily, Jesse realized he recognized that behavior. It had been him, once, before he’d forced himself to learn to take up more space, to behave like he had a right to exist.

It actually sort of hurt to watch someone else do it.

Hanzo was silent for most of the mission, only speaking as absolutely needed. Jesse wondered if it was his presence or something else making Hanzo withdraw - if that was just how he had become in the time since Jesse had last seen him. He had never exactly been _chatty,_ but this was new - this was _worse._

They’d started out staking out a location where they suspected Talon was hiding an EMP bomb designed to take out King’s Row’s Omnic population, but then Talon had arrived, confirmed the bomb’s existence, and it had become a fight to stop them from _taking_ it.

“I am engaging Widowmaker. Requesting backup.” Hanzo said, the most he’d spoken the entire mission.

“On my way,” Jesse said immediately, breaking off to start climbing stairs. He knew where Hanzo had been last he saw, and he knew that if he was really engaged with Widowmaker, he was in an absolutely _incredible_ amount of danger. There was absolutely no way Jesse was leaving him alone.

When he got up to the rooftop where he knew Hanzo was, he froze.

Hanzo was on his knees, and there was a scattering of petals around him - and a terrible-looking bloodstain on the roof. Widowmaker stood over him, but her gun was lowered, and she had a hand under Hanzo’s chin, tilting it up to look at her.

Neither of them seemed to have noticed his arrival, so Jesse ducked behind a wall, feeling a sudden rush of fear.

“How tragic,” Widowmaker said - purred, practically, “to see the heir to the great Shimada Clan reduced to this. To pining after someone who does not love him back - pining so terribly it is almost killing him.”

“That is hardly your business,” Hanzo snarled, and Jesse heard him try to get up, and then he started coughing again, and Widowmaker sighed.

“Talon could fix that for you, you know.” She said. “And they would happily give you your family’s empire back. You can be what you were _meant_ to be, instead of...this.” She sighed. “I imagine that it feels worth it to you, right now, does it not? To suffer all of this for love? But it is not, and you do not have to hurt.”

“And how would _you_ know,” Hanzo snarled.

“They were yellow rose petals,” Widowmaker said, almost nostalgically. “But she loved someone else. It was better, in the end. It will be better for you, too.” She hummed, just loud enough for Jesse to hear. “You would have your empire _and_ you would no longer have cause to suffer.”

For a moment, Jesse wondered. He wondered if Hanzo would take her up. He wondered if every one of the worst assumptions he’d made would be right - if he’d have to put both of them down; if he’d even be _able to._

“ _No,”_ Hanzo said, firmly - spat, really, like it was the most revolting idea he had ever heard. “I will _not_ be made into Talon’s puppet, not like you, and I will _not_ go back to the Clan. I will _never_ go back to the Clan - I will see it burned to the ground, first.”

“A pity,” Widowmaker said, and Jesse heard the sound of her bringing her gun around to smack into Hanzo’s chest, and a terrible _thud_ that must have been Hanzo hitting the rooftop, and that was when he practically threw himself out of hiding and onto the roof.

He didn’t wait, just pulled a flashbang of his belt and tossed it at her, making her yelp and duck back, which gave Hanzo enough time to get to his feet and scoop up his bow, so that when she recovered she had Peacekeeper and Storm Bow both levelled at her.

Widowmaker hissed.

“You will _regret this,”_ she said, and then she launched her grapple and flew off.

“You alright?” Jesse asked. Hanzo nodded sharply.

“Go back,” he said, “I am fine.” He coughed, briefly, and up came a single petal that he stared at disdainfully and tossed aside. “They will need you.”

Jesse withdrew reluctantly, the image of Hanzo spitting defiance in Widowmaker's face carved into his mind.

 

* * *

 

Jesse was realizing painfully that every single assumption he had ever made about Hanzo Shimada was painfully wrong.

He had assumed Hanzo was insincere in his desire for redemption -- and if he was, it was only because he didn’t believe he _deserved it._

He had assumed Hanzo was looking to sell them all out -- and yet when given the opportunity, at great risk to himself and after _multiple_ members of Overwatch had treated him horribly - Jesse worst of all - he had said no.

He had assumed that Hanzo was clinging to his feelings for Jesse even though they were _literally killing him_ as some sort of game to guilt Jesse into feeling something in return -- that was the most wrong of all.

He’d been _such_ an idiot, for _so long._

It was easier to see, looking back, what he had taken for secretive behavior was...fear. Hanzo had shut himself up and cut himself off not because he wasn’t planning on sticking around, and not because he planned to betray them, but because he was _afraid._

And Jesse had only made it worse.

But there was the other Hanzo, the one he’d caught glimpses of - the Hanzo that was incredibly confident on the battlefield, the Hanzo that was a picture of grace, that was an elegant warrior. Whenever Hanzo found the confidence to make calls - not often, and Jesse strongly suspected he was part of the reason why, because he’d made a habit for a time of arguing with Hanzo any time he tried, because he had been an unmitigated _jackass_ \- they were astute and well thought out, because he was a trained strategist and he always had a bird’s-eye - or, well, sniper’s-eye - view of the field.

And there was Hanzo off the field, too, where he’d been slowly opening up to the team - getting more comfortable, getting to know people, relaxing. The Hanzo he’d gotten a glimpse of on that lunch date in Gibraltar, who could smile and laugh and joke, whose sense of humor was utterly deadpan but no less clever for it.

Jesse was fond of that Hanzo, and he wanted to see more of him.

First, though -- well. There were some things he had to say.

 

* * *

 

It took a while to catch him - Angela had formally grounded Hanzo after what, by the yelling, was a fairly alarming review of his physical health, but Hanzo was still good at avoidance. Jesse always seemed to miss him by moments - he would ghost out of the room when Jesse walked in, or walk a little faster to get out of hallways before Jesse could catch him, or…

Point was, it was frustrating.

Finally, _finally,_ Jesse managed to catch Hanzo when he was on the long-range practice range -- entirely by accident, really, but it would have to do.

He’d gone to the range to practice his own shooting - he was mostly close-range, but it never _hurt_ to get better at shots from afar - and Athena informed him the range was in use, by one Agent Hanzo Shimada.

“I’m sure he won’t mind sharin’,” Jesse said, forced-cheerful, and Athena made a noise that sounded almost disapproving, but she opened the door regardless.

Hanzo was standing there, not running a sim, just doing basic target shooting. He looked...better, in Jesse’s estimation, than he had in London, even dressed in a t-shirt and sweats that he’d obviously thrown on as the first things in reach. Somehow, even dressed down and sweaty from practice, he managed to look... _regal._ Noble, confident.

“Well, howdy there,” Jesse said. “You’re a hard man to find, Shimada-san.” He knew his previous omission of honorifics had been...rude, to put it bluntly; best to at least try and smooth things over with a little politeness.

“Did it ever occur to you,” Hanzo said dryly, without turning to face him, “that might be purposeful?”

“Y’know, it did,” Jesse admitted “but I wanted to talk to you.” Hanzo’s shoulders sagged, and he turned, and there was a deeply wary look in his eyes.

“Whatever you imagine you need to say, I am sure you have already said it. More than once.” Hanzo said, and his tone was as wary as his expression, and Jesse winced.

“I deserved that,” he admitted. “Look, I…” Hanzo looked ready to interrupt again, so he rushed it out. “I heard you talkin’ to Widowmaker, on that roof. I heard you tell her where she could shove that Talon offer.” Hanzo looked startled - clearly he’d had no idea Jesse was there. Jesse pulled his hat off his head and wrung it between his hands, a nervous tic and an easy way to calm himself down. “I’m glad you didn’t take it, for a whole lotta reasons, not least of which the idea of you on Talon’s side scares the absolute shit outta me,” for more reasons than Hanzo’s terrifying skill with his bow, but that was...well. It wasn’t the time for that. “If you had, I ain’t sure I could even have blamed you for it. But you’re still here, an’...I’m glad.”

“Oh,” Hanzo said, and then Jesse watched as that smile slowly spread across his face. “Yes, well. I am rather fond of being my own person, rather than a brainwashed servant, and I believe becoming that was a rather critical part of Talon’s offer.” He was silent, for a moment, considering, and Jesse waited. “Would you like to join me for a few rounds of friendly competition?” he offered, gesturing at the range behind him.

As if he was he one that had to bridge the gulf Jesse had created between them. As if that was _his_ responsibility.

“I’d love to,” Jesse said, “long as you’re sure that won’t be…difficult, for you.” He wasn’t exactly eager to see Hanzo collapse into another terrible coughing fit.

“I will manage,” Hanzo said, simply. “I hope that is not merely an excuse to duck out because you are afraid I am better than you.” He raised a challenging eyebrow, and Jesse grinned back at him.

“Not one damn bit.”

 

* * *

 

They were next on a mission together that was effectively all hands on deck - every available agent was being sent into Numbani to cover the Unity Day celebrations and prevent another attempt to recover Doomfist’s gauntlet.

They were spread out across the parade route, covering as much of it as they could, and Hanzo and Jesse were stationed fairly close to each other, covering a speech by a Shambali monk - for all that they had avoided each other for so long, and neither of them had been particularly eager to fight side by side, they had an easy combat synergy that never ceased to amaze Jesse. Even when he’d despised Hanzo on a personal level, he had respected the man’s skill, and respected how well they worked together.

“You doin’ okay up there?” Jesse asked idly, and Hanzo huffed.

“I am fine.” He said. Jesse could just barely see him, leaning just out of easy sight on a high balcony with immediate catwalk access. “Pay attention. He is stepping onto the stage; if something is going to happen, it will happen shortly.”

“Yessir,” Jesse said, light and teasing. Hanzo huffed, and Jesse could perfectly picture his eyeroll, and it actually made him smile.

(How could he ever have been stupid enough to hate this man?)

Jesse scanned the crowd, and he narrowed his eyes when his eyes fell on someone weaving aggressively through the crowds, shoving people aside - moving with an alarming amount of purpose.

“Hanzo, you got eyes on the man in the bright blue shirt? He’s actin’ funny,” Jesse said.

“I see him,” Hanzo replied, and here was a pause, then a breath, and -- “he has a gun, and I do not have a clear shot. I will intercept.”

“Hanzo, wait --” Jesse said, but it was too late, Hanzo was already moving, flinging himself off the catwalk and into the crowd. Jesse shoved away from his post and started moving to intercept as well.

Hanzo was fast, but their determined assassin was faster. He made it to the podium and had his gun drawn, and shouted something that Jesse didn’t hear because his entire focus narrowed to Hanzo, who had shifted tracks so that instead of attempting to intercept the assassin he had simply moved to bodily fling himself between gun and target.

The gun went off three times.

Hanzo went down.

Jesse flung himself on the assassin -- too late, _too late,_ because Hanzo was laying on the pavement, breath shallow, blood pooling all around him.

It was like Oasis, except _so much worse_.

A Helix Security officer, Overwatch’s partners in the venture, moved in and took the assassin off Jesse’s hands, which left Jesse free to run to Hanzo. He thought he called for help, or backup, but he wasn’t entirely certain -- all he was certain of was that when he knelt next to Hanzo, Hanzo’s eyes opened, and he looked terribly confused.

“Jesse?” he asked, faintly.

“Hang on, Hanzo, please,” Jesse begged.

“Hah,” Hanzo said, faintly. “It does not matter. I was dying anyway.”

His eyes closed again.

“ _Hanzo!”_ Jesse shouted, desperate and hurting.

This was, he thought, a hell of a moment for him to realize that he _did_ love Hanzo back.

Too late, always too late.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo woke up slowly, and in a lot of pain.

He remembered intercepting the assassin's bullets in Numbani, remembered McCree leaning over him looking...looking _worried,_ which was...strange. He would have expected that McCree would be glad to be rid of him, and to be rid of the burden of his feelings for him. Dead from something other than hanahaki, something _other_ than drowning in flowers because he felt too much and too deeply.

He was in a hospital, which meant he had survived, and he glanced to his left and ---

McCree was there, still in his armor and serape, hat pulled low on his face, asleep in the terrible little hospital chair.

Hanzo felt a familiar ache in his chest, and winced, prepared for another round of hacking coughs, but nothing came.

He felt a moment of absolute, panicky horror. Was Doctor Ziegler the one who had attended to him? Was it someone else, who had decided to remove the advanced case of hanahaki to “save” him?

Was the pang of feeling he’d thought he’d felt an illusion, a pang of _expected_ feeling that hadn’t really existed?

Hanzo collapsed back on the bed, and the movement was apparently enough to stir McCree, who sat up and tipped his hat back, and when he looked over and saw Hanzo was awake, he made a noise that sounded almost pained, and halfway dragged Hanzo into a hug. It was surprisingly gentle, mindful of his injuries, but it was...it was _heartfelt,_ and Hanzo swore he heard McCree sobbing faintly.

Hanzo was too stunned to respond in kind, frozen in McCree’s embrace, and he didn’t move even when McCree let go and sat back, hands remaining on Hanzo’s shoulders.

He _had_ been sobbing, because there were...there were _tears,_ and that wasn’t right, McCree should be glad to be rid of him, or maybe frustrated that he’d managed to survive, not….not whatever _this_ was.

“I’m sorry,” McCree said, “as if that even _begins_ to cover -- I am _so sorry,_ Hanzo, I treated you like _garbage,_ because I thought I couldn’t trust you - I thought _we_ couldn’t. An’ I’ve never been more wrong about anybody in my life.”

 _Hanzo._ McCree had called him _Hanzo._ McCree had called him by _name._

“I...do not understand,” Hanzo said quietly.

“Just...let me finish,” McCree requested. Hanzo nodded, falling silent. “I thought I had you pegged, and I was wrong at every turn, an’...an’ after everything I put you through, I’d be damned surprised if you still felt the same way about me, but I think -- I think I love you, and I was almost too late figurin’ it out, an’ if you don’t love me back that’s fine, but I….”

Hanzo stared, watching McCree’s face for any sign of deception.

He looked open and honest and _raw,_ and...and it was everything Hanzo had wanted and had been certain he could never have.

“I…” Hanzo blinked, and then he leaned forward, reaching a hand up to cup Jesse’s chin. “McCree. _Jesse._ My feelings for you have not changed, nor will they.”

This time, it was Jesse who leaned in for a kiss, and Hanzo sighed and leaned into it, and when they parted this time, there was no terrible urge to cough, no pain in his chest, just….warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> You can come talk to me on tumblr at [noirsongbird!](http://noirsongbird.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also, this fic now has _art!!!_
> 
> ["…The image of the archer unconscious and surrounded by blood and bright red chuparosa petals was going to be engraved in his mind forever."](http://pastelrunes.tumblr.com/post/157813591747/the-image-of-the-archer-unconscious-and) by pastelrunes
> 
> ["'Just _what?'_ Hanzo snapped. 'Just thought this was some sort of game to me?'"](http://phsfg.tumblr.com/post/157648812156/i-wanted-to-practice-setting-scenes-and-facial) by phsfg
> 
> [Hanzo](http://spacevikings.tumblr.com/post/157905498063/doodle-for-flowers-like-ashes-by) by spacevikings
> 
> [Hanzo](http://fufu-tama.tumblr.com/post/157932257296/obviously-it-not-that-great-of-an-art-work-but-it) by Lilytama/fufu-tama
> 
> [Hanzo](http://stardustradio.co.vu/post/158373472659/i-have-sucha-backlog-of-art-to-catch-up-on-now) by stardustradio
> 
> ["My feelings, despite being for you, _are not yours,_ and you have absolutely no right to decide what I do about them. "](http://noirsongbird.tumblr.com/post/158396647801/mutecrowdad-my-feelings-despite-being-for) by mutecrowdad (slightly nsfw!)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [drop to dust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10390191) by [BoxOnTheNile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxOnTheNile/pseuds/BoxOnTheNile)
  * [Flowers In A Bottle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907541) by [miamaroo (BFTLandMWandSek)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BFTLandMWandSek/pseuds/miamaroo)




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